


The New Teacher

by xXdreameaterXx



Series: Arrows of Eros [5]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bathroom Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 04:35:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5033989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXdreameaterXx/pseuds/xXdreameaterXx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a Tumblr Prompt: We hooked up last night and it turns out you are my child's teacher. Whouffaldi. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The New Teacher

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wheezerthefangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=wheezerthefangirl).



“ _Fuck_ ,” she breathed as he thrust inside of her, one of her hands clawing at his back, her nails digging painfully into his skin, the other buried in his hair, which was even less gentle as she dragged him down until their lips met again.  
He tried his best to hold her up against the bathroom wall and was thankful that her legs were wrapped around his waist, helping with the weight, as his knees were so wobbly he could hardly feel them anymore. All he could feel was her tight, wet, hot cunt wrapped around his cock, the pleasure of it almost unbearable as he plunged inside her at a frantic rhythm while moaning into her mouth.  
She was his first date in four years, the first woman he had found on this online dating website who had been willing to meet with him. They had exchanged a few glances over their drink and now they were already fucking in the bar's public toilet. But God, he needed this. She was younger, they hadn't even exchanged their full names but he didn't care. From the moment he had seen her with her big, brown eyes and her red lips and her pretty dress, all he could think about was taking her up against the wall.  
She keened and whimpered under him, her eyes shut now and her lipstick smeared all over her flushed cheeks. She was beautiful and he wanted nothing more than to make her fall apart for him. He closed his eyes and let out a throaty groan as she clenched around him and he buried himself deeper, needily and hungrily and he didn't care that her moans could be heard outside of this room, not as she begged him to go even _harder_ , even _faster_ and he was more than willing to oblige. He lifted her up with one hand and she practically sank back down him, so wet it almost drove him right over the edge. Her breath was hot against his ear, ragged and panting like his own.  
“Harder,” she urged him, her voice weak and so high pitched that he could tell she was close.  
He pressed the weight of his own body against hers, doing what she had asked of him, thrusting inside her, digging deeper than he had gone before and her head hit against the cold bathroom tiles, a cry dying out in her throat as she tightened around him in her climax and he stilled his movements as his own orgasm hit him. He groaned as he spilled himself in the latex, his breath shallow and his head sinking into her shoulder. 

 

He watched her as she straightened her hair out, a pointless endeavour, and he buttoned his trousers back up. He didn't dare ask to see her again, no matter how much he would have enjoyed doing this again – maybe in a bed instead of a dirty bar toilet. She didn't ask for his name or his number and he was sure he would never see her again in his life. 

 

Nevertheless he felt oddly free the following day when he walked his son to school for the first time after the summer holidays. Last night's date, however short and unusual it had been, had boosted his confidence, something he had really needed after being a widower for so long. However, the smile he was wearing on his face froze as soon as he stepped into the classroom and saw her – undoubtedly her – and a blush replaced his smirk. She was even prettier in daylight and he swallowed hard. Then she turned around and saw him as well. Her mouth fell open.  
“Oh,” he heard her mutter and she quickly busied herself with some papers on her desk.  
He stepped forward and extended his hand like a polite man would do.  
“Good morning. I'm John Smith, Timmy's father,” he said, trying to sound as matter-of-factly as possible, “You must be the new teacher.”  
The woman cleared her throat before she reluctantly shook his hand.  
“Nice to, erm, know your name,” she replied with a nervous giggle, “Clara Oswald, and yes, I'm your son's teacher.”  
Again she cleared her throat. A small flicker in her eye, buried beneath the nervous shifting, told him that she wasn't unhappy to seen him.  
“So, erm, you bring your son to school often?” she asked, switching between looking at him and avoiding his gaze.  
“I think I might do that more often now,” he said with a smile.  
“Good,” she muttered, “That's . . . good.”  
“Daaaaad, you can let go off my hand now. It's embarrassing!” his son suddenly protested and he realized that he might have squeezed the little hand a bit too tightly in his nervousness.  
She, however, laughed at his child's comment and bent down to be at eye level with him.  
“Timmy, right? Why don't you sit down at your desk, huh?”  
Timmy happily obliged and trotted off to his seat.  
“I guess I'll be seeing you around, Miss Oswald?” he asked hopefully.  
“Oh, absolutely,” she replied before lowering her voice, “And just so you know. The school toilets are pretty much sound proof.”


End file.
